Ataraxy Obstreperous
by obsidian shark
Summary: Modern college AU with prof/student relationship. Sex, drama, and pretentious literature. I bought these books instead of renting them because I have a boner for my professor. Routine vs repetition, Ciel and Sebastian discuss philosophy through literature, igniting a secret romance. "Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of angels." Do not attempt to seduce your professor.


Third year, second semester. Third year, second semester. Third year, second semester. Teaching. Professing? Philosophy and literature. Sociology, anthropology, religions history. Which was he was going to now? It was only his third year, second semester. First day. But already he was bored of his third year second semester. Second semester third year teaching, yes, was unenticing because all the other years… All the other semesters were, without a doubt:

Bullshit.

Ah, not that he didn't enjoy a couple of pupils. On few occasions, students would present little pearls to him. Pure white wisdom they had found in the oyster of reading the night before but still bumpy with skipped paragraphs and youngster optimism. He liked those students best because they broke the routine. Over his years of research, he had found little to be excited for in the world. Rimbaud, Ginsberg, Conrad, Steinbeck, they all had the same message to him: humans are not worth spit. So when the few, the happy few, the band of brothers, found the sunny side of the reading, he smiled. Ah, to be hopeful. To be young with open mind and heart. Content in lief's daily motions. To be full of romantic crap. He almost wished they would never change. But always, by the end of his class, their spirits were not as bright, not as whole. He did not feel bad for blowing out the candle of naivety. That's just how it worked. He liked these students best because he felt like they were the ones who actually learned.

A Socratic class it was almost all discussion. Or, it was supposed to be. Instead, because of the lack of preparedness, he ended up lecturing. But he was not that great of a speaker. But those students were few and far between. They were only there to keep him interested long enough to keep his job at the college. And not as though he was tired of his subjects, nor frustrated with the students. No, he was simply tired of the same routine. It was so monotonous at this point he had even forgotten which class he was heading to on this chilly morning, this third year, this second semester. He figured he would relive this routine of reading the same papers about the same authors and the same concepts over again. Ah, the Shirley Building. That's where he was heading. He complimented his feet for remembering what his mind could not. He pretended he could hear his feet answer back. 'good luck on your first day of your third year second semester.' "Thank you." He replied quietly. And entered the building.

"Good morning, students, and welcome back to school. I am Sebastian Michaelis, bit of a mouthful- I know- so call me 'Professor M,' and we won't have to discuss the socialization of my parents so to name me as such." His first year, first semester, he had hoped that would gain a few chuckles. This was the Shirley building so this was…

"Welcome to Literature 212, I have put up the syllabus online, but in case you haven't printed it out I brought these."

He placed the pile of papers in the nearest student's hand. Routine, routine. Even the student, with one hand on her phone and the other picking out a syllabus for herself was already tired of it.

"We shall not be having a full class today since I want to let you all buy or rent the books you will be reading because I know not all of you have them yet."

He surveyed the room. Scanning each student briefly he noted the ones with the books already. Perfect posture, eye contact, and that strange nod they do when they want to look like they're REALLY listening. No, no, he didn't like those. Those were the ones that copied what he said in class. He wasn't one of those professors who wanted parrots for students. He wanted discussion. Challenge.

"So, let's get started." He zoned out again. He thanked his mouth for remembering what to say when his mind could not.

"Welcome to week three of the semester class, as you know drop/add has been finalized so whoever is here now is here for good. If you are majoring in English you need at least a C for this to count towards your degree and if you're not, a D to pass. Good luck to you all." The professor sat down. His class was substantially smaller now that he had scared off the spineless ones. The reading list was too long, the books too think, the topics too existential. This was a time of lists. Long, long lists repeating what they were last year. This morning he had woken up thinking it was last year. Honestly, it was getting bad enough that he was forgetting time itself.

"We will be continuing reading some exerts from Marx's 'Capital' and continuing our discussion of how we think Marx would view today's online shopping. Any ideas?" The classroom was quiet. It was now set up to be a circle. Just a circle of fifteen students all blankly staring at something, most of them at their phones "concealed" below the tables. Sebastian was officially going to resign.

"Well, I will start the discussion, then."

Ciel Phantomhive did not enjoy college. The food was shit, there were a total of four people he found cool, and the classes. Oh, man. He found the subjects to be too wide in challenge. His earth science class was covering things he learned in 6th grade while his history of rock music class was SOMEHOW kicking his ass. He lived in a single dorm on campus. No roommate, no problems. His family was rich, but he was independent. He favored the color blue and liked dogs. Hello, I'm Ciel Phantomhive I'm from London and I'm from London and I want to sell my soul to the devil because I think it'd be fun. He had shared the usual "give your name, your major, and a fact about yourself" filler for every class now and had started to make up stranger and stranger lies on the fact bit. Last time he had stated he didn't believe in the moon landing. Mostly, it was to get on the bad side of the professors so he could piss them off when he aced their final, but already he was late and already he was not feeling like going to his next class. Maybe he would skip it. Ciel was, in general, a very smart person. He was perhaps unmotivated, pissed that the red squiggly line always appeared under his name in word documents, and the arts were not his forte, but he liked maths and world history so he found no qualm in applying for colleges. Which is how he ended up here. Hampton University was a good school. More expensive than state, less expensive than Ivy League. Perfect undergraduate for a business degree. Then he would go god knows where for graduate while interning and boom he'd be head of the family corp in no time. The thought made him tread a little quicker. Ciel was 18, a freshman in his second semester. He did not think about trivial things. He held strong to his beliefs. Stubborn and prideful, he was quiet until spoken to. Then he would find himself ranting like someone broke the dam. Suddenly he was a cup filled to the brim with wisdom. Or rather, questions. Usually when a person asked him what he thought of an issue, he overlapped himself in question and answer. He would respond, question, answer, respond, question, answer… on and on. It's not like he particularly enjoyed routine. No, he liked varying repetition. But what was the difference? He found himself by the Shirley building. What class am I going to anyway? Routine and repetition… he would have to think about that one. Ah, Literature.


End file.
